Prelude to innocence
by Akin
Summary: The road to corruption is made of good deeds. And the hearts of men are easily corrupted. Faramir and Boromir must show where their loyalties lie and hope they are at the same side. Sequel to Thy father's son
1. from brother to brother

Prelude to innocence **Author's note:**_ This story is a sequel to my previous story happening in Minas Tirith "Thy father's son". It can stand on its own as well, but you may have problems to understand everything that is going on in this chapter.  
I want to thank Chris for her great beta reading job, thank you very much, pal.   
This story is dedicated to all people who are around and support me: Mirka, Tanicka, Shaytis, Jo and of course all Faramir fans. _

* * * 

**Prelude to Innocence**  
by Akin

Life in the city was waking up, but the clamour of the lively Gondorian society did not reach the silence of Faramir's darkened room. The only thing that reminded Boromir of the existence of light behind the walls was a narrow stream of sunshine slipping in between the half- drawn, heavy curtains. 

Boromir leaned heavily against the chair and continued to look at the small particles of dust swirling in the single ray of light. On his knees was resting a heavy book of war strategies. Its edges were uncomfortably digging into his tights, but he did nothing to change its position, simply too tired. He had ceased in reading it a while ago, when he had realised that his concentration was too drained to be kept on the lines of small letters.   
Boromir massaged his tired, aching eyes and looked at his dozing brother. 

It was already more than ten days since they had with Mithrandir's help found out about Faramir's sickness. They had kept on fighting it since then and yet, it still was not defeated. Boromir felt deep inside that he should be thankful that Faramir was alive at all, but the nagging feeling that this circle would probably never break kept on returning and his own impatience made him feel like a spoilt ungrateful brat.   
He had never been known for his patience and this time he tried really hard for the sake of his sick brother. He wanted to be the support Faramir needed, wanted to care with love.   


So the time went by and he did not even notice when he became the loving, serene carer. Boromir snickered. The thought was ridiculous.   
He wished for his brother to be well again, but the healing was slow.   
As a soldier, he had learnt to be indifferent to the physical pain inflicted upon him, or his companions. Yet he felt very uncomfortable by the sight at the raging fever, which kept its hold on Faramir.   
It did not bring pain, but despite that, it was plain to any eye, however blind, that Faramir was suffering under it. It was leaving him weak and drawn.   
Boromir sighed quietly and rolled his eyes, he had to be patient. 

After the late night vigil Mithrandir had gone to bed and so Boromir was left with Faramir alone. He could not help, but cringed at the thought of the wizard. 

The man was taking batter care of Faramir than any healer could, preparing the right mixture of medicine and then staying up long into the night to administer it. Yet after what Boromir had heard in father's office, his feelings for the wizard had gone several degrees colder. 

_ //Faramir could be the new-made knot binding together the broken line of the Elves and Men. I wanted to take him to the Elves so he can learn from them.// _

Since the encounter of Denethor and Mithrandir, not a single word had fallen about Faramir leaving Minas Tirith, or Gondor.   
The Steward, with underlying anger, pretended that nothing had happened and Boromir chose wisely to keep silent. And yet both men, the son like his father could not forgive the wizard for having the sole idea of taking Faramir away and although Boromir fairly doubted that the motivations behind their actions were the same, he was glad that the Steward despised the wizard as well.   
So despite his efforts and all the care he showed, Mithrandir was merely tolerated in Gondor, but not welcomed. 

Faramir on the bed stirred and whimpered and so interrupted the thread of his brother's grim thoughts.   
Boromir stood up heavily. He had been too tired to move, but now it felt good to flex his strained muscles a little. He reached to the table, took the prepared medicine and returned to his brother's bed. 

Faramir had pushed himself up on one elbow and was watching him. His blue, previously clear eyes were glazing from fever again. Boromir handed him the drink. Although the cup in Faramir's hands was trembling a little, it seemed that his brother was looking better and was probably finally taking the right course to getting well. 

To his brother's good, Boromir had to admit that Faramir was a good patient and in healthier moments also amusing and nice company and although they had always been very close, Boromir had a feeling, that in these moments of clarity something new was developing between them, deeper- a kind of mutual understanding they had not shared before. The silent dependence of his ever so strong and witty brother struck a silent hitherto hidden accord in him. Boromir was not so sure whether he wanted to hear its soft humming. 

_ *The next thing I will find out is, that I would make a great father.* _

Boromir smiled at the thought, but his smile faded, when he looked at Faramir slowly sipping his medicine, eyeing him over the rim of the cup. The observing, assessing look made Boromir flinch inwardly in nervousness and reminded him that there were still depths of his brother's soul, he did not know. 

_ *One can be never too sure what to expect when he looks at you that way.* _

"Is Kiriel dead?" __

//Kiriel gwanale...Boromir lav nin wanya......lav nin wanya!// 

Boromir froze at the question. He was not sure if, or how clearly Faramir remembered his feverish cries at the balcony of his chamber. It had been the day after the tournament, when the fever had started. It had been the day when they had found out that Faramir had most likely caught the sickness from Kiriel. And the day when Kiriel had died. 

Boromir shuddered. He was not afraid of death, neither of his own nor of someone else's. During the years spent with his company in Osgiliath he had learnt that death was a part of life: dancing together hand in hand, like two lovers embracing, one could not exist without the other.   
Yet the strange connection Faramir had felt to his dying friend was sending shivers through him and the assessing look his brother was giving him now made him wonder if Faramir beheld some memories of this connection, though tingled red with the brush of fever.   


_ *Is he simply asking because he does not know? Shall I tell him? And is there at all a gentle way how to tell that you friend had died? Valar help me! The best would be I will just say it.* _

"Yes. He had died one day after the tournament. That was ten days ago."   
Faramir's eyebrows sunk lower as he tried to utilise what he just had been told.  
"Oh."

Boromir had always shrunk back from emotional outbursts, but his brother's indifferent reaction made him doubt to what degree Faramir's feverish mind was exactly able to comprehend the words it received. This was not like Faramir at all. It was impossible that his emotional brother would react to his best friend's death with a simple 'oh'- a stance so similar to Denethor's that it made Boromir's hackles rise. Faramir always had more in common with their father as they were both willing to admit. Boromir secretly suspected that might be the reason why they did not get on well, but this way of likeness disturbed him. 

_ *How much would it take to make from passionate Faramir cold Denethor? Or is it likely that his sickness is the reason for this?* _

Faramir handed him the empty cup, lay down again and curled in his sheets.   
Boromir stood up to go away , when he heard a small muffled sob escape from under the covers. He turned back. There was no way he could help Faramir with this pain. Gently, he caressed brother's dishelved, slightly curly hair sticking from underneath the covers and went out. 

He did not have a good feeling from leaving Faramir alone with his pain alone, but on the other hand it had always been Faramir who had been the source of wisdom beyond his years, level-headed with quick wit. There were no words of counsel he could offer that Faramir had not been thinking of before. It was time for taking care of his own personal matters. 

* * * 

Boromir returned to his silent vigil later that day, shortly after the lunch. When he opened the door of his brother's room he was surprised to find the chamber empty, except for Ioreth, who was changing the bed- sheets. The merry healer was singing to herself softly and except for her greeting she did not pay any attention to him at all.   
"Good day, master Boromir."  
Ioreth's musical voice was not so infectious today. Boromir shrugged the greeting away getting straight to the matter of his pressing concern. "Where is Faramir?"  


Ioreth looked at him and although she had noticed his grim mood, she did not show a sign of being influenced by it, continuing in the same tone, "He was feeling better after the lunch and so master Mithrandir allowed him to spend a little time in the fresh air in the Gardens of Healing. They left after master Faramir had eaten." 

Ioreth returned to her task. Boromir grunted and went out into the sun. In long paces, which allowed no stopping, he hurried to the Gardens of Healing in the Sixth ring. With a little feeling of grim satisfaction he realised, that everyone he was passing by was trying to get out of his way. Not even the guards by the Citadel-gate were asking questions, a thing which under normal circumstances would have been a serious mistake, yet Boromir was thankful for it this time. He was too angry to answer for his burning temper. 

Soon he entered the gardens, a place absolutely unique in its beauty and peace in Minas Tirith. He always had a feeling that life and to live bore a totally different meaning here, despite the fact that Boromir did not like to spend time in the Houses of Healing, or the nearby Gardens because it often meant he was sick or wounded. However now, even despite the anger and worries lingering beneath the surface, he felt its peacefulness touching and soothing like a soft breeze.   
Although the Gardens were large he did not have to search for long to find his brother. 

Faramir was sitting on one of the wooden benches with his back turned to Boromir. He appeared like a marble statue of their ancestors - proud with touch of sadness. Only occasional blinking, or intake of breath revealed that this descendant was still alive. 

For the first time in days was the air was warm despite the night rain warm. The ground was still wet and the smell of soil hung heavily in the air. With everything around awaking even the wind seemed green.   
Boromir watched his brother quietly. At first he thought that he had caught Faramir thinking - he was starring plainly into the open space without a move, his back frigid. Only when he looked closer, he realised that his brother was looking at the top of the tower of the Cathedral visible showing between the few planted trees. 

When he heard Boromir's steps in the soft grass, Faramir tensed a little, but he did not turn to his brother, nor did he greet him. Boromir opened his mouth to chide Faramir for being incautious with his still fragile health, but when he saw his brother's sad eyes, he decided against it. He sat down on the damp bench and looked into the same direction.   


For a moment they both gazed in silence before Faramir suddenly turned to him.   
"What do you see when you look at me?"  
Boromir sighed. He had grown accustomed to his brother's strange questions, but he could never tell what would be the result of his answer- a fact that made him feel uncomfortable.   
"I see my brother," he responded plainly.   
Faramir looked at him discontent with the answer and asked once again, insisting. "What do you see when you look at me?" 

Boromir loved his brother dearly, more than anyone else, maybe even more than their father, but to voice it was getting more difficult with each passing year. For a moment, he wished that everything could be so easy as it had been when they were small children: he would embrace Faramir and tell him lightly how much he loved him. Faramir would giggle and hug him back as the most precious thing in the word. And they would be the most content people in the whole City. 

But things were not so easy anymore. And although Boromir knew that he most likely was the most precious person in his brother's life, he knew, it would not get easier to say it anymore. After a short moment of intense thinking, Boromir responded slowly,   
"I see my brother, a good man, one I would trust with my life."  


Although it was an answer as close to his feelings as he dared to give, it still did not appear to be the thing that Faramir longed to hear.   
"Do you see a man born in the shadow of the Cathedral?"  
Boromir raised an eyebrow, getting more and more confused. "Of a noble origin? Yes."  
"No. A man born in the shadow of the Cathedral. Do you see such a man in me?"  


Faramir looked at him hardly and then he chuckled softly at Boromir's confusion, but the chuckle faded into a whimper.   
"The last time I was with Kiriel, when I had found out about the tournament...Kiriel told me, we'd better not meet anymore. He said, that I was a man born in the shadow of the Cathedral."  
Although Faramir's voice was even, Boromir divined how hurt Faramir was and he cursed Kiriel for causing so much pain.   
"You know, I have always believed, that no matter what will happen, that Kiriel and I, we would be friends. I would have never believed that our friendship would break from inside. It is not fair that we could not be friends only because I am the son of the Steward."

Boromir wanted to tell Faramir that there were many things in life, which just were not right, or fair. He wanted to slap Kiriel for being such a coward and then tell him, that many things were not what they appeared to be. But Kiriel was not there anymore. 

"Did you know that a long time ago the Cathedral used to be a library? It was guarded by the wisest men in the city, but before our father started to rule, it nearly burned down by a mishap. After that, convinced by the council, the Steward had it moved into the House. Since then the Cathedral has only been a place for the crowning of Stewards. It used to be a centre of all scholars, sorcerers and people skilled in many ways of mind."  


Boromir sighed. He was confused by the sudden change of their topic, but relieved that Faramir started to had started to talk about something that was close to his heart and not about his pain, which was maybe closer, but history did not make Boromir feel so awkward. 

Although he wanted to listen to Faramir's problems, he felt strangely inapt for not being able to help him. Suddenly, thinking of what he had heard, a strange thought occurred to him. At length he started, "The people, who used to live in the Cathedral in the times when there still was the library, were they wealthy, or respected?"

Faramir frowned at Boromir's surprising interest in their topic, but answered,  
"no. They were mostly studying books and scrolls there. They had brilliant minds, but that was probably at the same time the only possession they had," his arms flew up in a for Faramir uncharacteristic exasperated gesture ", and respected? Remember brother - Minas Tirith is a fort, beautiful, big, but a fort." 

Boromir picked in his brother's statement bitter truth about the priorities of life in Minas Tirith, but despite its severity, he chuckled a little. Then he grew serious again,   
"I believe you were wrong all the time, brother mine. The message Kiriel wanted to give you was that you cannot be friends anymore because you are too different, that is right. But not because you are the Steward's son of noble origin."

Faramir's eyes fixed on him, question shone in them. Boromir smiled nervously. It was very unusual for him to tell Faramir about the behaviour of others. Usually, their roles were reversed and it was Faramir, who explained to him the furthest stirrings of souls of the people surrounding them and their motivation to do things which Boromir found absolutely incomprehensible. Now it was Faramir, who was looking at him, wide- eyed, holding close to his heart every word Boromir spoke. 

"You know, many people think you are like our father."  
Faramir breathed in sharply to retort that comment, but Boromir's gesture stopped his protests, before they could even start.   
"You have the same ability to look through a man right into his mind. And thanks to your knowledge and talents, you are a master of many skills which appear like sorcery to simple minds. As you have already said, in the Cathedral used to live scholars and masters of many ways of mind. And in many ways you are like them. Maybe Kiriel wanted to tell you that your place was not with him, a simple boy probably meant to die defending his city, but to be one of those who do not fight but rule by their wisdom. Wisdom which is far superior to his. " 

Faramir frowned deeply. When he asked, his voice was sharp, "are you telling me that Kiriel thought I am too wise to be his friend?"  
"More like he has nothing to offer to you."  
The idea quickly passed through Faramir's mind and Boromir could tell that although his brother had only thought about it only shortly the thought had been met with immediate, fierce disapproval.   
"That is not right! I could never betray a friend by thinking of him lower than of myself!"  
Boromir smiled briefly, "I know that. But the feeling of inferiority is not a feeling easy to defeat, especially not in a friendship."  
"But I have never done anything to make him that way!"  
Boromir sadly looked at Faramir, "You did not have to, brother mine. Your very presence makes people feel smaller, less apt."  
Faramir frowned with a little desperate twinkle in his eyes, "Why so?"  
Boromir laughed silently with a certain bitterness, then answered, "Part of family heritage maybe."  
Faramir hung his head, "does this mean I will never have friends? Just because I am too much son of our father?"  


Boromir looked away, not sure how to answer this. Yet, this his gesture alone answered Faramir's question. "It is not entirely right. It will only take a little time to find people, who are willing to look further beneath the surface of the son of the Steward."  
Suddenly Faramir shivered from cold. Boromir stood up and looked down at him with concern.   
"Come brother, it is time for you to rest and heal."  
Faramir glanced thoughtfully at the Cathedral one last time, "At least you will be at my side, Boromir."  
"I will. Always. Now come." Boromir's voice was heavy, when he realised that this vow might cost him a lot in the future. Yet, there was nothing he would not sacrifice for his family. 

* * *

Kiriel gwanale...Boromir lav nin wanya......lav nin wanya! (elvish)- Kiriel is dying...allow me to go (to him)

_If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. _


	2. the threat of Harad

**Author's note:**_ This story is a sequel to my previous story happening in Minas Tirith "Thy father's son". It can stand on its own as well, but you may have problems to understand everything that is going on in this chapter.  
I want to thank Chris for her great beta reading job, thank you very much, pal.   
This story is dedicated to all people who are around and support me: Mirka, Tanicka, Shaytis, Jo, Chris, Inyx and of course all Faramir fans. _

* * * 

**Prelude to Innocence**  
by Akin

Boromir sat in his chamber. The rigid muscles of his back were already protesting, but he was too nervous to easy his body. _Tense like a string_, Faramir would say, or something similar.   
The thought of his brother lifted Boromir's mood a little. Even a small smile crossed his face although there was really no reason to be joyful that day. 

After this small easing, his eyes returned to gazing southwards.   
Although he was considered far-sighted, his eyes could not reach the distances he wished them to. This inability was to be expected, but increased his dissatisfaction and impression of great burden lying on his shoulders.   
_The only burden I carry now is my own impatience. He chastised himself; I wish there were at least some news so we can act. Not only sit!_   
He sighed. 

For a long time bad rumour had come from the southern borders, but there was no one to confirm them or prove them wrong. Naturally, the head of Gondor could not make important decisions based on the talk of folk in the streets under the Citadel. Yet Boromir knew, that these silent whispers were often faster than any messenger. 

_Is father listening to the rumours? Could it be the explanation why he always knows so much more than the others?_   
For a few moments Boromir pondered over the answer, but then dismissed it as a most unlikely explanation. 

Boromir prided himself for not taking the rumours too seriously, yet he had a feeling that there really might be much going on under cover of the night of Haradwaith. 

_We should forget about the Southern Region. The soil is naught but sand, and the land almost as hostile as the neighbours. There is no one, save some border villagers, who would dare ride closer to the line. _

Nobody wondered about that though, for behind the line was lurking Harad. The very name sounded as dark as its folk looked.   
He himself had been on the borders only once, not a long time ago. And it seemed like he would return there ere he wished.   
Suddenly the loud sound of silver trumpets of Guards of the Outer Ring shook the air. Once – twice. A messenger was coming!

Boromir bolted from his chair and hurried to his father's working chamber. His long paces were fast and he must put a lot of effort into trying not to run. All the way he was met by curious and half envious stares. 

The worried lines around the mouths of Steward's advisors were prolonging- under the unstable peace with Harad the threat of open conflict was constantly bubbling on the Southern borders. And the steward was never very subtle in his actions - from an open conflict was never too far to an open war, which would be against all interests of Gondor.   
If bloodshed occurred though, it seemed inevitable. 

Boromir almost ran into his father at the door of his chamber, but he managed to stop just in time. Despite the strain of the last days Denethor was calm. The Steward's blue eyes pierced his son with disapproval and Boromir felt his impatience suddenly leave him. He looked down and followed his father into the office. 

Denethor sat down to his table and gestured for Boromir to sit as well. He put a hard bushing with engraved sign of Gondor on his desk and then simply, without any ceremonials broke the seal. Inside was a single sealed scroll clearly signed as solely for the steward's eyes. 

Boromir looked away discretely. He did not doubt that Denethor would give him the scroll after he had studied it alone. Till then he would wait patiently.   
He tried to avoid making his father's shifting moods worse by his impatience because even though the servants and maids believed the steward to be calm, Boromir knew better. He looked away from his father's wrinkling brow and waited. 

He promised himself to sit quietly and patiently, but his equanimity was soon lost again and Boromir curiously glanced at his father. He carefully studied the small signs crossing Denethor's strict face - brows were knitted together, eyes were blazing. His hand with the big silver ring with the sign of the office was pressed to the thin lips... he would go to Harad.   
The shadow looming over the steward's eyes spoke volumes, the conflict was opened and war was closer than in the long years past. 

Finally Denethor's eyes left the scroll and he raised them to Boromir. Then without a word his long arm stretched over the table and handed his son the scroll. A few moments ago Boromir had been eager to read it, but now he took it reluctantly. 

After he had read it, Boromir grimly put the scroll away. It did not tell much about what had happened except the fact that Reenatirion had been attacked. Nothing about the outcome of the attack or about the losses. Even from the little he had learnt it was clear though, that his presumptions were correct - there was only a small chance they would not end up in war.   
"How do you think we should proceed?"  
Denethor's eyes pierced him, awaiting his suggestions. Yet Boromir had a feeling that whatever he would say, it would not be right. Was there something he had missed?  
"The best would be to organise a troop of the soldiers who are still in the city and immediately leave for Reenatirion in Hyarmen, the southern land of Harondon. The guards there know the situation and could be of assistance. If we need help we could send for the groups in Southern Ithilien." 

The Steward folded his hands behind his back and stood up, "No. The outpost Reenatirion was attacked and destroyed. Only one man escaped the slaughter, who brought the news and died immediately after."  
Boromir straightened alarmed, "How could they dare to attack it. They must have known we would fight back!"  
His father's cold eyes immediately bit into him, "Of course they knew. They were trying to provoke us. They crossed Harnen, invaded Harondon and destroyed Reenatirion. Enough to call for a war."  


Boromir subconsciously clenched his fists, "But why! They ensured we would react, but why?" "They are prepared for our arrival. Their number is small, but they are convinced that they will finally be able to defeat us. They are Haradrim. They may not be very intelligent, but they have stout hearts."  
"That is folly. We are able to build up an army of at least two thousand men and crush them to nothing at any time!"  
"They obviously need to be reminded of that. Take six hundred men and leave for Hyarmen in two days. You will take Faramir with you and all lads fit for duty from the orphanage."  
Boromir froze and dread drenched him, "But that is a suicidal task!"  


Denethor looked at him with a cold edge in his steely eyes.   
"As you said. They need to be reminded of our strength and there is nothing more degrading for a Haradrim than to be defeated by an adversary who is seemingly much weaker. I am sure we would not hear from them for the next few years and we would be able to evade the war at the same time."  
The logic was cold and appeared almost perfect, almost.   
"I cannot lead there a bunch of children there and let them fight the Westerlings."  
"There would be only twelve orphans in your group and Faramir. All the other men would be of your free choice. I have full trust in my captains."

Boromir smirked. A dry remark was itching at his tongue and probably for the first time in his whole life he started to understand how Faramir must have felt, fighting battles he simply could not win. But Boromir did not intend to give up,   
"Why do we have to take the youths?"  
"They live in the orphanage and are bred to become soldiers one day. It is time for them to have their first experiences. They have to start somewhere, just like all others."  
It sounded oh so logic.   
"And what of Faramir!"  


The Steward's brow flew up high and Boromir was ironically relieved that at least when his son was in question Denethor showed a little humanity, though it was only in the form of a small sigh of confusion.   
"What of him. He has been truly sick, but he is fine again now. He would soon have joined one of the companies anyway. He proved more than satisfactory in the yearly tournament and I see him fit for duty."  
Boromir blinked disbelieving, "This would not be a skirmish, but a massacre!"  
"He must soon learn that the life of a soldier is not easy soon, if he wants to lead a company sometime."  
Boromir had tried to win this war for his brother's sake but now he was speechless. Defeated on all fronts. "Very well then. We shall leave as planned."

The Steward nodded contently and Boromir had to do everything possible to hide the defeated manner in which his shoulders hung down, "I will prepare everything necessary and inform the companies I intend to lead as well."  
"Thank you, you may leave, Captain."  
Boromir turned on his heels and strode out of the room. He had to tell Faramir. 

* * * 

He looked up and pondered where his brother could be. The sun was already high and Faramir had most likely finished his early sword practice already, which was supposed to bring him back to shape after the terrible sickness. Boromir considered a few possibilities and then decided to look for his brother in Faramir's room.   
_He will have his nose stuck in a book or similar trumpery._ Boromir halted a little in his walking and shook his head slightly._already resemble my father in opinions as well. _  
That certainly was not a pleasing revelation. 

_It is my anger speaking for me. At least in this I am not like my father. As long as I preserve my emotions, I am more human. _  
The thought that occurred to him seemed even more preposterous than the previous one.   
_As if father was inhuman. He has a deficiency concerning humanity, but he still..._  
Boromir shook his head again, he did not need to judge or defend his father before himself. If nothing else, Denethor was still his father, the Steward of Gondor - a man both respected and honoured. 

Although he was not very eager to bring the news to Faramir, he was almost relieved when he stood before his brother's chamber and so could end his inner struggle.   
He knocked, "Faramir are you inside?"   
His voice was echoing strangely in the usually empty wing of the House.  
Without bothering to knock again, Boromir entered. He hoped that Faramir was inside. It would not be the first time he had not heard him knocking because of some interesting tale he was reading.   
But not this time. The room was empty. There were no opened books on the table and the window had been opened since the early morning. 

Boromir frowned; he had hoped that Faramir would be here, yet he obviously was not. There was one other place where his brother could be. He left the chamber and proceeded further into the wing, soon coming to a stone spiral staircase leading down beneath the level of the ground where the larger part of the Great Library of Minas Tirith was located.   
_The stairs look as if they would never end;_ Faramir's words crossed his mind when he looked at it. 

He hoped that there would be more torches along the way so he would not break his neck. Boromir sighed, but then slowly moved down the hard flights. He had not much luck with the light. Obviously, the warden did not believe that anyone would be foolish enough to share Faramir's excitement for old lore and so there were only a few fixed torches on the way down.   
Although it was all stone around him, his steps were not echoing as his voice had in the upper part of the House before. 

The air was cold here, but not damp. Nevertheless, Boromir did not feel comfortable enclosed in the tight space. If two men met on the staircase, they would hardly be able to pass each other by. Finally the dark passage opened into a surprisingly airy and open space richly lighted with many torches.   
There in the middle of everything Faramir sat. Among the scrolls and books he appeared small, but despite that it seemed as if he somehow belonged there and ruled everything. _Everyone has one's own reign. _  
Faramir raised his eyes for a moment and spotted Boromir, surprised he stood up and exclaimed,   
"Boromir, why are you here? Something happened? Can I help you?"  
"Is this what you think of me, brother mine? That I visit you here only when there is threatening a danger?" Boromir replied dryly.   
Faramir flushed, "Of course not! I was only taken aback," then he frowned, "and yet I can tell from the look on your face that something has happened. Tell me."

Boromir smirked and sat down, "This morning a messenger arrived from Harondor. Haradrim had crossed Harnen. They attacked Reenatirion and destroyed it. No one survived the attack, except one messenger who died immediately after his arrival in Minas Tirith. We must take six hundred men and leave immediately for Hyarmen to settle the fights."  
"I am not surprised that Harad awoke again. She has been brewing for long. And you tell me we must go there to settle the matters. Their power must have been great if they managed to defeat Reenatirion, how are we supposed to do that with only six hundred men?"  
Boromir followed Faramir's thoughtful look directed at the back of one of the many books in the shelves.   
"That is not all."

Faramir lifted eyebrow, "Is it not? Even without the skilful eye of a warrior I can see that if we do not get help from Southern Ithilien or another company, it would a slaughter and not a battle. How can there be more to it?"  
"There are going to be twelve lads from the orphanage who will join us and fight as well."  
Faramir stood up abruptly and his wooden chair rambled on the stone floor, "That is abhorrence. Shall boys fight men's wars in Gondor?"

Boromir despite himself smirked, "May I remind you, brother, that most of the orphans are older than you are?"  
Faramir smirked and sat down again, "May I remind you that they did not have more than basic fighting lessons? To send them with us would be sentencing them to death!" 

"Keep a cold head, Faramir. Reenatirion was a good fort, but there were only three hundred and five men. As the messenger said, there were approximately eight hundred Haradrim. They did not have a chance. But I believe with six hundred good men, we could do it."  
Faramir cocked his head to the side as if counting and then reluctantly nodded, "Yes with Reenatirion for support, it might be possible."  
"The fort was destroyed, completely. We cannot count it as a backup. It would be most likely be a fight in an open space without any help for them or for us," Boromir's pragmatic voice softened a little, "I know you have strong feelings about it, but please, keep them to yourself."  
Boromir immediately saw that his words had not the intended impact.

"So you think it is right when we rob them of almost every chance of survival because we want to give the Haradrim a lesson?"   
Faramir laughed almost bitterly when he saw the elder man's expression, "Brother! Did you really believe I would not see through this plan the instance I heard it? Such a foul idea can only come from Denethor's mind."  
"I do not think you are right. The plan is indeed very audacious, but not impossible. And the orphans have everything has each usual soldier has when he joins his first company. They are well bred, have their clothes, they will get armour and were taught to wield a sword."  
This time Faramir considered his words a little longer, then he silently replied, "You may be right. I probably feel sorry for them because they do not have the chance to choose."  


"Even if they had, most of them would become warriors. Minas Tirith is a beautiful city, but she is not known for her beauty, but as a stronghold."  
Boromir had seen that although he had not convinced Faramir completely, there was much less temper within his younger brother now. 

_I am of the same opinion, brother. But we cannot make our feeling rule us. Those who stand at the top stand there alone. We must give our feelings in exchange for our heritage, which we just cannot disclaim. _  
Faramir stood up from the book and closed it. He stuck it into one of the shelves and moved out of the library. Boromir did not follow him, for he saw that his brother was not prepared for company now. When Faramir stood under the staircase, he turned back a little and murmured, " It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth."   
Then he swiftly walked up the spiral staircase and had soon disappeared from Boromir's sight. Boromir looked at the torches around him and sighed into the empty chamber.  
"I know, for there is bile in my mouth as well." 

* * *

_ Reenatirion- a watch tower, an outpost by the river Harnen watching over the activity in Harad.   
Hyarmen- the most southern lands of Southern Gondor(Harondor)_

* * *

**minnie**- Yeah to be honest I am with the sequel surprised a little myself. I only planned this one chapter and it started to grow and grow...;) 

**Siberia**-I am glad that you like my Minas Tirith stories, I hope that I wasn't by criticisin your stories very harsh and that my suggestions would help you to get even better. But don't forget, those are only suggestions and are only a matter of opinion. Thak you that you stopped by. 

**Alex**-thanks, I try because I like Boromir and Faramir as well. They are both soo different and sooo great...that's why they are such a good theme to write about. 

**Inyx**-Inyx,hmmm Inyx, seems like the name of this lady rings a bell by me, it should shouldn't it. Hi Inyx, I welcome you to my next story and I hope you will enjoy it just like all the others. I hope that you will have time to read it by your punishing schedule :)) 

**Xenabard**-Hi, seems like someone from Brothers of Gondor forum had found here a way :) I am very glad that you like the story. I try :) See ya in the forum 

**Acacia** - I immediately recognised your name as one of the reviewers from Thy father's son. I am honoured that you found the story that good to read a sequel. I, to be honest, after rereading TFS had to rewrite it a little and I am sure that the next time I see it I will rewrite it again, the curse of being a detailist. 

_If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. _


	3. hard today, harder tomorrow

**Author's note:**_ This story is a sequel to my previous story happening in Minas Tirith "Thy father's son". It can stand on its own as well, but you may have problems to understand everything that is going on in this chapter.  
I want to thank Chris for her great beta reading job, thank you very much, pal.   
This story is dedicated to all people who are around and support me: Mirka, Tanicka, Shaytis, Jo, Chris, Inyx and of course all Faramir fans. _

* * * 

**Prelude to Innocence**  
by Akin

After Faramir had left the library Boromir waited a while to make sure he would not meet his brother on the stairs. He would not mind to, but was sure that Faramir did no feel like talking to anyone. His brother needed a moment or two to come to terms with everything. So Boromir went into his room and sat down uneasy. 

He knew that he should be packing a few things, but that could wait.   
He moved to his desk and there spread there a new scroll. He was well aware that he might be deciding about the result of their battle with Haradrim and that idea made him very uncomfortable.   
In the case of their victory, he could receive more attention than anyone. In case of the other...he did not want to think the thought to the end. If they lost the battle, they would be very fortunate not to lose their lives in it as well. 

He was the one to lead the companies and most likely decide about victory or defeat. His choices would make the difference. And it began on the scroll that was still lying on his desk, blank.   
He gazed at it again and scribbled several names only to cross them out again furiously.   
Which company to take with them? He needed strong, reliable men who could support the younger ones. They had to be skilled in fighting with the sword as well as have experience with the bow. He had to be sure about their loyalty and character as well. 

The blankness of the scroll which had at first represented a challenge was now almost dreadful. Boromir was not one to lose his heart fast though. 

_I should pack a few items, maybe I would have clearer head then._  
He stood up resolutely and started to line different items on his bed. There were not many and so he did it slowly, consciously over-thoroughly.   
Together with the list of the items he had in his mind, he went through the list of all companies presently in Minas Tirith and the experiences connected with them. 

To his relief, with his hands his head started to work well and the terrible responsibility on his shoulders lifted. He ended the packing soon. He did not have to think about what to take with him, his years of service were of great help to him. 

Boromir licked his lips contently: he had planned everything, was packed and at the top of all still had some time before he wanted to send for the captains of the chosen companies. 

Maybe Faramir would like to have a hand in packing. He was sure that his younger brother's temper must have cooled down already so Faramir would welcome his help and it would be a good opportunity to have a talk with him.  
Boromir looked one last time around his room one last time to make sure he had not forgetten anything important and then left for Faramir's chamber. 

When he entered Faramir's rooms after a brisk knock, he was surprised to find it neat with no prepared things at all. Faramir himself was sitting behind his table and furiously fumbling with something. When he heard someone enter, he turned towards the door and it was quite clear on first sight that his brother was severely agitated. Boromir cocked his head, slowly entered and carefully started with neutral statement,   
"I see you have not prepared anything, so I come right to help you."  
Faramir looked at him angrily, "I did not have time to prepare myself. I came a moment ago. I was with Denethor."  
Boromir exclaimed disbelievingly, "You were where?"  
"With Denethor," Faramir replied dryly, "I was there to protest against taking the orphans with us."  


When he caught his brother's disapproving glance, Faramir hastily, but not less sternly added, "I had to do it."  
Boromir slowly sat down on the edge of Faramir's bed opposite to his brother sitting by the table and sighed exasperatedly, "And have you achieved anything?"  
Faramir's hands flew up angrily, "Of course not!"

Although his younger brother did not describe their conversation, Boromir could well image how it had gone,   
"You are going against the stream. I am really getting tired of you and father permanently being on each other's throats."  
Faramir looked at him almost reproachfully and exclaimed, "I had to do it! Someone had to do it!"  
Boromir replied soothingly, "I know. "  
By the words Faramir seemingly warmed and stood up prepared to finally take care of necessary things.   
"Have you prepared anything? No. Then do not forget that Hyarmen is a dry land, almost desert-like. There will be dust and soil similar to sand. And the days are very hot there. Warm things are needed only for the nights. But do not take any heavy boots." 

When Faramir uncertainly showed him several pairs of shoes, Boromir chuckled, "I have a feeling this will take a little longer than I expected. Wait. I will just give the list of the captains who should come to me to one of the messengers and then we can continue."

* * *

The time with his brother ran as fast as usual. It did not take them long to prepare everything necessary and so they sat opposite each other talking. It had been a long time since they had had a comfortable and good time like this. 

Boromir watched his brother while he was talking and clearly felt that something had changed between them, or rather within them. Faramir was changed. His eyes were different. The change passed unnoticed, almost hesitantly, as if someone slowly turned a page in a book. 

Faramir was now more mature, manly. It was not only that he had grown, it seemed that a strange red emanation was coming out of his core. And suddenly despite their five years difference, they were equals again. 

Faramir was laughing, when a hard knock on the door interrupted him. He lifted his eyebrows in wonder, but opened the door, "Yes?"  
"Excuse me master Faramir, I am looking for master Boromir and cannot find him."  
"What would you like from my brother?"  
"I want to tell him that the captains have gathered in the Throne Hall."  
"You can go. I will tell Boromir myself."  
With a simple "aye, sir" went the servant away.  
Boromir stood up, "I should go to them then. I do not think we will see each other tonight so sleep well."  
"Good night to you as well, Boromir."

* * * 

Boromir went to the Throne room. He had not realised that it was so late already. Through the high windows in the outer walls only darkness came. He entered the throne room hidden in the shadows of pillars supporting the heavy arched ceiling. Along the table many torches were lit. All captains he wanted to see where already gathered here, standing all around the room. No one sat by the prepared table. Boromir emerged from the shadows,   
"Good evening to you, sirs." 

He motioned to the table and all five captains moved together with him. They settled down and silently waited for him to speak up,   
"I believe you have all at least a vague idea why I have summoned you here. We have to face another threat. The Haradrim crossed Harnen, destroyed Reenatirion and now remain dwelling in Hyarmen. We have no other choice than to respond to this attack. I am here by the will of the steward. And you are here by my will. I chose your companies because they are reliable. Our number is six hundred men and twelve orphans. We shall be the ones to protect the peace and Gondor. We should prepare and leave for Hyarmen the day after tomorrow." 

The light on the faces of the captains danced slightly, but that was the only movement in the whole room. No one moved or said anything. Boromir doubted there would be anyone who would dare to doubt the decision of the steward. Although all the captains must have thought the same as him: their task was almost bordering with self-sacrifice.   
"We should leave Gondor in the early morning. Be prepared. Strength and Honour." 

* * * 

Boromir was unsettled. He had done everything he could for the sake of success.   
For now, there was nothing else. Nevertheless, he could not bring his thoughts to rest.   
There was nothing to think of, yet his thoughts were running in his head like wild horses. He could not find his peace even in the silent rooms of his chamber. Boromir smoothed the soft linen on the top of his bed. He wished to lie down.   
He looked at the candle burning on his small table. The small yellowish flame was jumping and dancing in slow rhythm. His eyes concentrated only on that. There was nothing but the flame, flowing in his mind like a stream, filling it, warming him. In a moment of clarity his whole world shrunk into one flame. There was light, no anger or fear. Only hope. And then the flame went out. A thin ribbon of smoke rose.  
Boromir smoothed the cover of the bed again and then stood up. Although his body was weary, there were too many words. 

_Ungrounded worries. _  
He could not understand why they were present. He could not banish them from his heart as well. A sense of dread was welling in his heart like filth on the bed of Anduin. 

He cast one last look at his dim chamber and then walked out.   
He escaped the high passages of the House and soon went out into the free court.   
It was empty and silent. The riot of the yearly tournament soon seeped into the old walls of the city and there remained only silence again.   
Boromir smiled. They had both, he and Faramir, learnt a lot then. The peace of those days seemed life-time ago. It seemed hardly possible only about thirty days had passed. For a moment he considered going to Faramir and talking to him, but then he reasoned that his brother would most likely be sleeping already. And if he was not, then they would probably spend the whole night talking- that neither of them could afford. 

Boromir sat down on one of the benches in the court and looked on the flag limply hanging on the top of the House. The same one was hanging on the top of the Cathedral as well,   
_//Kiriel gwanale...Boromir lav nin wanya......lav nin wanya! What do you see when you look at me? Do you see a man born in the shadow of the Cathedral?//_  
By the memory of the spoken words Boromir shuddered. It was as if death brushed his arm. He banished the thoughts. The past could not bite them anymore, it was the future he was more afraid of. 

* * * 

* * *

**Alex**-hmmm I am glad you like my Denethor. I, in fact, admire and in a way like the man so I try. :) 

**AzNnEgGrOePnOi**-The pleasure is all mine, really. I love writing about these great guys, they are so inspirating. I hope that now when the story takes another course, it would still stand up to your expectations. ;) 

I thank you everyone who encouraged me and told me one way or another that he/she likes the story, EVERY comment (criticising especially) is welcome!  
_If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. _


	4. survival of cold

**Author's note:**_ This story is a sequel to my previous story happening in Minas Tirith "Thy father's son". It can stand on its own as well, but you may have problems to understand everything that is going on in this chapter.  
I want to thank Chris for her great beta reading job, thank you very much, pal.   
This story is dedicated to all people who are around and support me: Mirka, Tanicka, Shaytis, Jo, Chris, Inyx and of course all Faramir fans. _

* * * 

**Prelude to Innocence**  
by Akin

Boromir looked over the faces gathered under the Citadel - soldiers were standing in small circles and talking to each other silently. 

It was a cold early morning and the air was still crisp. It would take another while till the sun would rise and warm the air.  
An unwilling shudder went down his spine. He had almost forgotten how cold Gondorian early mornings could be. Despite that a warm feeling of pride spread in his chest. 

He slowly sought out the faces he wanted to see; every captain who caught his gaze nodded affirmatively. Boromir was content. Despite the lack of time, they were able to pack sufficient amount of water, food and clothes and ride out for their perilous task. 

His gaze went to the last, much smaller group standing a little apart where stood Faramir as well. He directed his mare in that way. He counted the heads fast, and cursed,  
"Twelve there were supposed to be, yet only eleven I see here. Who is missing?" 

He caught a disapproving glance from Faramir from which he could tell that his brother still was not very comfortable with the idea of taking the orphans with them, but ignored it.   
Finally someone responded, "Tiris is not here. He lives in the house of the former orphanage."  
Boromir growled at the carelesness and leaned to Faramir, "Go and fetch him. Be quick, the soldiers are getting impatient. We will meet by the Gate of the Outer Ring." 

* * * 

Faramir strolled down the main way in the Fifth Ring. Although he had a good idea where the house he was looking for was, he was not so sure how to handle the stranger he was supposed to fetch up there. 

Should he act more gently, or would a commanding tone be better? Would he not seem foolish if he were to act strictly, especially considering that the lad was older than himself? Tiris was most likely only a little younger than Boromir. 

With a growing sense of discomfort Faramir came to the house he had been looking for. Before he knocked on the simple oak door, he adjusted his tunic.   
His knocking was loud enough to be heard by far, but there was no answer to it. 

Realising how long he had been gone already, Faramir knocked again, stronger, almost painfully.   
There was no sign that someone was coming to open the door though.  
His wrist was throbbing from knocking and he had no intention to try it again. He pushed against the door and to his surprise, it slid open quite silently and easily.

Faramir entered a fairly large hollow room. Although it looked dreadfully unkept, he was sure there was someone living in it, for he could hear a distant murmur coming from the chambers above and the ceiling occasionally squeaked in an unusual rhythm as someone on the other floor moved.   
Without thinking about the situation that he might get himself into, Faramir climbed up the simple stone stairs to the second floor. 

There was not much difference from the first chamber, only the light was much better and there was strange a odour in the air. Faramir noted a figure standing under one of windows.   
It was a short lad, but his sole presence was dominating the whole chamber in a manner Faramir had noticed only once, with Denethor. He was sure at once that he was looking at someone rather out of ordinary and his own interest drew him to the strange person immediately. 

The lad's hands were doing something fast in temperamental, nearly uncoordinated moves while he kept talking to himself in constant low murmur Faramir could not understand. 

Even though fascinated by the strange occurrence, Faramir reminded himself of why he came in the first place and made several resolute steps closer. When the floor squeaked under his weight, the lad finally perceived that someone else was present and turned to Faramir. 

Only now Faramir had a chance to throw a curious look at the lad's work, that was a centre of such concentration- it was a still wet painting.   
Exploring the work intently, he greeted, "Good day to you, Tiris..."   
"If you believe it as such," Tiris immediately interrupted him, then he looked languidly from the painting to Faramir, " I believed I would have enough time to finish this. Seems like I will not."   
He smiled briefly and although his face was not beautiful in the right sense of the word, Faramir thought the smile to be most enchanting. 

"I pray sir, give me a moment, I will find some necessary things and we can leave immediately," Tiris did not wait for his consent, but left Faramir standing in the middle of the room.   
Faramir pushed his jaws together annoyed by the irresponsibility hidden behind Tiris' manners. Yet there was something in the older lad, nearly man, that caused his jaws to remain pressed together and he did not reproach him anything. 

While Tiris searched for necessary items, Faramir stepped closer to look at the work of fine art. The scent of colours was unfamiliar to him. Tiris probably mixed them himself. 

Faramir looked exploringly at the painting. Most of it was done in rich and fast brush moves, prompting the temperament of the painter. The work itself was a strange mixture of colours, which was dominated by a cold-blue spot in the middle with several grabs reaching into the most different directions. All around it were rays and spots of yellow, violet and black. It was beautiful in its own way and somehow sinister. 

Looking at the different places of the canvas, Faramir realised how rich in details the painting was. Nothing seemed out of place- nearly the opposite of his first impression. He had never seen anything like it before.   
There were several portraits and paintings hanging in the House and some halls, but nothing similar to this. 

Faramir turned to the lad, who was packing his poor belongings on a bed in the corner, "What is it?"  
Tiris looked up, glanced to the painting as if he had never seen it before and yet wondered how Faramir could not have told what it represented already at first sight,   
"It is them," he replied slyly, with a strange curling of his mouth.   


Faramir could tell that Tiris was teasing him, his imagination and forbearance. Yet his curiosity for the answer was more intriguing than his pride.   
"Who, them?"  
Tiris smirked a knowing smile and replied as if his sentence contained the answers to every question one could only think of, "Me and them." 

Faramir shrugged and looked away. He knew there was much more to be told, but Tiris' manners were humiliating and made him feel small, insignificant, inexperienced and young. He did not say a word anymore and followed Tiris down the staircase.   


They walked to the meeting point in the Outer Ring in silence. Faramir's passion to ask questions was temporarily repressed. He was in no mood to ask anything soon.   
Who was this lad with intriguing manners and a tongue prickling like his father's? 

He occasionally glanced down at the face of his silent associate- Tiris' dark brown, almost black eyes were lurking on the ground. Faramir could almost physically feel the thoughts running behind the narrow orbs and the thick air of dissatisfaction around Tiris intensified. Faramir smirked, a strange soul.  
"Who is them?"  
Tiris jerked as if he had been bitten by a nugatory insect, but then briefly smiled tartly, "Could you not see it?"  
Faramir frowned, what was he supposed to see? "No, indeed I could not, why would I ask otherwise! "

Tiris looked at him and passion similar to despair passed in his eyes, "They are cold, those who do not understand. The only way to survive is to become colder than them. Ah, I see you know not of whom I am talking. But you should probably know the best, Faramir. You are surprised that I know your name? Well, then you should not be. More people are more conscious of your life than you may believe."

Faramir looked at Tiris sharply. Was it possible that someone might have watched his life from afar just like Tiris had suggested? The thought gave him a cold feeling of dread. He stuttered, "have you...were you?"  
Tiris looked upon Faramir and his face hardened, the old sly glint returned to his eyes, "If I have watched you from afar? No, not really. Only when I felt the best, to see someone at worst."

Faramir pierced Tiris with a cutting glare, his incertitude changed into anger by Tiris' careless expression, "How dare you to say this to me?" 

His own tone sounded poisonous to his ears, like never before. Yet it did not affect Tiris, who remained calm and detached, "I do not pry into others' lives, nor do I want to outrage anyone. I simply tell the things as I see them." Faramir defiantly shook his head. Even if it was true, how dared Tiris suggest that his life was miserable even in comparison to his! 

Tiris smiled at him as if his anger was nothing but a child's tantrum and Faramir was relieved that he could already see Boromir's troop in the distance, for he knew not if he could vouch for his own tempter.   
When they had almost reached them, Tiris looked at him briefly and stated matter-of-factly, "One can find out a lot if one is open enough to accept what one sees."  
Faramir shrugged with his shoulder carelessly.  


* * * 

The moment they arrived, several impatient grunts arose and they immediately set out. It was not a great lag, but they had been slowed down nevertheless. 

* * * 

When they were finally allowed to get out of the saddles, noon was coming and although it was not his first long ride, Faramir had a feeling that if he would not get off the horse soon, he would never be able to put his legs together again. 

He walked stiffly and only his behind was hurting more than his tans. It seemed that most of the knights were not sharing his problems walking stiffly nearly out of habit, not necessity. 

Faramir chuckled,_ Men from Osgiliath cannot go straight and men from Minas Tirith cannot put their legs together._  
He remembered the words of an old song he had learnt from his uncle Imrahil. The glorious past of Osgiliath as a haven was forgotten, but Minas Tirith held true to her riding tradition.   
_Seems like it will not take long and it would be obvious that the White city is my home._

Faramir decided the best way to give his bruised behind a little rest was to walk around. He winced, he had never realised that it could be good for anything else than sitting, but now he painfully felt every step.   
"By the Vallar," he sighed, but continued the painful exercising.   


As he walked between the riders from different companies he noticed that the men were neither tired, nor afraid or depressed. They talked about usual matters and it was hard to believe that these men were closer to death than any sick ones back home in the Healing Gardens. Only scarcely he heard grim themes only scarcely, if any. 

He looked over to Boromir.   
His brother was standing over a map with other captains deeply engaged in a lively conversation.   
Faramir observed them shortly. Although their body language spoke of temperament, it also showed their loyalty to their leader. As if there was no need to be afraid at all. 

Faramir turned away abruptly and almost ran into Tiris. If it was possible, the lad looked even worse than him, moving slowly and wincing. 

Faramir chuckled, "Could it be possible that you are human at last?"  
Tiris waved the teasing away, "Do not fall into wrong impressions," his tone was almost hostile, but Faramir was too amused by the indignant face of the lad who had made his so angry in the morning and simply ignored it. Although his own muscles protested, he sat down beside the crushed Tiris.

"Go away! I do not need you to laugh at me while I suffer."  
"Do not give me ideas, Tiris," Faramir chuckled. Tiris' hostile expression softened for a moment, but then returned to hard features again.   
"Do not make yourself comfortable, we will leave soon anyway."  
Faramir settled himself comfortably and smiled at Tiris who smirked. It seemed to both of them that it was going to be a long day. 

* * * 

* * *

**Alex**-you have the review of the week, or of the chapter. People, this is what I call read intently and do creative criticism. As I already told you in my email, the sentence indeed was taken from another film. And to those blisfully unaware, i forgot to mention that the "Strength and honour" sentence is not mine, but was taken from the film Galdiator. Yep, intent readers might have noticed. :) 

**tHe InSaNe One**-Here is more, relish relish :) 

**Acacia**-I assure you I don't mean to stop here anywhere, I am not entirely sure where this would end, but definitely not here, not yet. The time has not come yet.   


I thank you everyone who encouraged me and told me one way or another that he/she likes the story, EVERY comment (criticising especially) is welcome!  
_If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. _


	5. come along with me and I'll ease your pa...

_ Author's note: to Chris for her endless support. This story wouldn't be here without this great soul folks, you should know that! _

* * * 

**Prelude to Innocence**  
by Akin

Faramir was glad he could finally feel the solid ground under his feet again. After the whole day-lasting ride seemed even the light swaying of the horse seemed to evoke dizziness in him. He was tired of looking at Boromir's back also. 

Although they had been riding side by side almost the whole way, only a few words had passed between them. And though Faramir understood, he had found it unnerving.   
One look at his brother's brow wrinkled with worries was enough to explain everything. Yet his silent understanding did not mean that he did not want to share Boromir's burden, especially when he was sent on this mission with Boromir to learn something from him. It was frustrating. 

The night was coming and they were close to the ruins of Reenatirion. It was a shame that they would ride too far from it to see the damage done. Faramir's lively imagination could picture it anyway. 

One day or two at the most and they would have almost reached Harnen, the last border to the uncertain land of the Haradrim. 

When they stopped the knights immediately started to settle down for the night.   
They needed not worry, they were still too far to be attacked. And in the field every moment of sleep was precious. Or so Boromir had said.   
Only when his feet were finally on the solid ground Faramir realised how tired he was. If he had been to sit on the horse for a moment longer, he would have jounced out every bit of life in him. 

He cast a fast look to Boromir, who was talking to one of the captains again- an occurrence which was becoming a habit. And he was once again excluded from this. This was becoming a habit as well. 

Faramir sighed and tapped his horse's mane. He was sweaty and although he was not shivering from cold Faramir thought it best to dry him a little.   
He found a rag in his backpack and with long careful moves he started. The sun was moving down and the sweat was glinting dimly.   
"It is a good idea. It is hot now, but the night will be cold."   
"Boromir, I did not see you coming."

He indeed had not noticed when his brother had come and a sudden wave of unexpected wilfulness flared up within him. Only now, facing his brother, Faramir realised how much it hurt him that he was excluded from everything. He was supposed to learn and instead of that he was treated like a child which needs to be protected! 

Boromir stepped to them and half gently stroked the stallion's big head. It was a gesture that reminded Faramir of a loving mother of a too lively child. Not so gentle, but still loving and pleasant. The stallion moved his head and grunted satisfied. 

"Faramir, do not act so childishly."  
"Childishly? You think I am acting childishly? Then I ask myself why I am here! I thought we were supposed to share the decisions."  
Boromir chuckled in disbelief, his voice going several degrees higher, "Share? You expect me to put many soldier's lives in danger only because of your hurt pride? You have no experience at all and one wrong step could lead to a disaster!"  
"Exactly! I do not have any experience, but how do you think I should gain it when I am not even able to watch. You exclude me from everything!"

Faramir was now close to yelling, absolutely not caring who of the very wise and very experienced captains could hear them arguing.   
Boromir sighed, "If you see it that way. I think you should think about it a little more before you start to yell like this."  
Faramir grunted angrily and turned away.   
"Get prepared. We will leave soon tomorrow and you are weary," Boromir turned away as if to go away, but then added over his shoulder, "Do not forget the first rule, Faramir!"  
Faramir wanted to reply, but then he bit his tongue.   
He looked at the first man who was standing close. It was Tiris with a sly smile. 

* * *

A warm wind was crossing the empty plains of meagre grass tufts covered in dust as far as the eye could see. The moonlit relief reminded Faramir of Osgiliath's coasts. 

He had seen them a long time ago, but the memory remained very strong.   
He had been with Boromir on a visit to their uncle Imrahil.   
At first the idea had been met by Denethor's fierce disapproval, but mother had somehow managed to convince him and they had been allowed to go. 

The plains looked like the sea- the dust was glinting in the pale moonlight and the small islands of grass appeared like waves wandering beyond the horizon.   
Faramir remembered the night vividly. It had been the same night when their uncle had come to tell them that their mother would not welcome them when they returned. 

Boromir had hugged him tightly back then and only then he had realised that nothing would be the same again. He had never cried over her departure, neither had Boromir.   
They had never shared their grief, but Faramir was sure that his brother must have felt it equally ferocious. And in between their own torment they had gained something that could not be expressed by words. 

He was sure that even after their argument, they would come together again. Not even the most harmonious families lived without a fight. And their family certainly did not belong to the most harmonious ones. Therefore both brothers stuck to each other more strongly. 

Sometimes, in times without Boromir at his side, the world felt cold and harsh, like a hilt of a sword. Faramir rubbed the hilt absentmindedly. 

He still was not accustomed to its additional weight at his side, but he realised that after long days when Boromir had patiently taught him how to wield it, he looked at the sword through different eyes. 

Faramir unsheathed it and gazed at its long shaft. It did not feel as alien to him as it had, but the thought of killing someone still did.   
Yet he had to take a foe's life to become part of something bigger, part of a dream created by Denethor long time ago, before his, even before Boromir's birth. Maybe even before Denethor himself had been born. 

Faramir shuddered; kill to make a dream live. He had neither understood it, nor shared it, but he was from the Steward's family and his task was to become Boromir's advisor one day, so he had to become part of the dream named Gondor. 

Slowly, he traced the cold blade from the top to the hilt. Engraved sings representing his noble family were running and tickling beneath his fingertips. Maybe if they had not been there and he had been a simple boy, then he would have had a chance to make his own choice. 

Faramir banned the outrageously appealing thought. Things were the way they were and his place was not where he chose to be, but where he was ordered. Whether he liked it or not. All he could do was to make the best out of it. 

To put the whole company apart was probably not the best start and signs of his loyalty. The only thing that comforted him was his certainty that Boromir could understand his temper. He could surely understand Boromir now. His brother was right as usually. 

Something rustled and a dark figure came to his side. Although its face was hidden in the darkness Faramir recognised it immediately.   
He moved aside a little to make room for the newcomer although it was not necessary because there was room enough. The newcomer accepted his silent, though reluctant, invitation. 

Tiris stepped to his side and sat down,   
"Do you believe that the war with Harad will end one day?"  
Faramir gazed at his feet. Tiris' question was more or less statement that did not need an answer. Yet Tiris was obviously waiting for one. So at length he answered slowly, "No. I wish so, but I do not believe it. This war has been going on for as long as Harad and Gondor border. The Haradrims are too proud to forget their reasons, however deceived they may appear to us."

Tiris snorted. "Many lives have already been spent in it, without being any closer to the solution than at the start."  
Over this conversation Faramir felt his inner turmoil growing. 

For a moment Tiris fell silent, but his quiet mood was pensive. All of a sudden he whispered, "I am afraid to die." 

The confession was so quiet that Faramir's head came up and he looked at Tiris not sure whether his own senses were not betraying him. He could see Tiris quite clearly in the moonlight and it was not the face of the self-assured artist. 

Faramir asked, his throat tight, "What are you saying?"   
"Let us run away! Somewhere far away, there we could start to live again. To the North!"  
"But that would be desertion!" Faramir almost cried out in horror at the dishonourableness of the very core of the idea. 

Tiris got to his feet, looking around fearfully whether a night guard could hear them.   
"Come we will flee. There are plenty of places in Middle Earth where we could hide and no one would look for us there!" 

Faramir was speechless. His face reddened with shame for only considering the option.   
His throat suddenly convulsed into a knot and there was nothing he could have choked past this barrier, though there were many things he wanted to say, all at once. 

Faramir grabbed Tiris' hand and pulled him back to the ground. He knelt before him and in a hushed, unsteady voice explained, "I cannot come with you although I am afraid to stay. I could not let my brother behind! I cannot leave Boromir's side! I cannot leave my brother, my captain!"  
"Faramir! Cease to dream about of the Steward's favour, of victories and fame. He has gold all around him, but not in his heart!"

Faramir choked as his initial fury gave way to sadness, "I cannot! If you must flee, I will not say a word, but do not ask me again. The temptation is too great and I am too weak to be sure that I could resist again."  
Tiris got up to his feet abruptly, "You are a fool! You blindly follow men who cannot love!"  
But before he could make a move away, Faramir grabbed his hand anew, pleading, "Leave, if you must, but let us not part on bad terms. Anger is a bad counsellor and time a treacherous friend. Let us not part in hurt!"

Tiris looked down at Faramir who was on one knee bent by his feet. In his eyes his previous anger still shone, but Faramir could tell it was replaced by a softer expression.   
"Faramir, always so noble even if pleading on his knees. You gave me the honour of calling myself your friend, and if you wish for me to stay, I will."

Faramir got to his feet, his voice filled with gratefulness, "Aye. I wish for that. Though my heart tells me I have no right to ask such a thing of you, I will do it anyway. I will not listen to it this time!"  
Tiris shoulders slumped down, yet it appeared that a great weight had been taken from him. Then he added in thick voice, "The only way how to live a happy life is to act upon your emotions."   
Tiris stood up and slowly walked away. 

Faramir felt relieved in the sudden loneliness. He looked up. The stars in the sky were bright and some of them blinked at him, as if to encourage him before tomorrow. Faramir realised that he was smiling at them dreamily. 

* * * 

* * *

**Alex**-oh yeah I can imagine, all that terrible moments without my story ;)) (okey, that sounded terrible). But thanks for your insightful comment. I was almost doubting that my own impression of Tiris was wrong, but you told me it wasn't. Yeah, I love him too. He is so strange.  
This next chapter will tell you, or already told you a lot about him, and there will be more. Trust me. The painting he was working on really exists- it's work my friend had done as her homework for her architecture lesson.   
And honestly, I like that sentence a lot too. Dont know why though :) 

**tHe InSaNe One**-Well whether things would get worse for Faramir, I can't tell it would spoil everything :) And about Denethor, I wonder what you would say at the end ;) (I am terrible, I know) 

**Caroly**-Yay a new reader! Hm it came to the update, admitedly not so soon, but hey, it's me we are talking here about. I love Boromir-Faramir interaction and their relationship as well, that's why I center my stories around them. I hope that the rest of the story would keep making justice to their characters.   


I thank you everyone who encouraged me and told me one way or another that he/she likes the story, EVERY comment (criticising especially) is welcome!  
_If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. _


	6. the clutches from within

_ Author's note: I am really terribly sorry that it took so long to update, but do not blame Chris, who is the perfect girl making this story going and do not blame me. The real life got to us, I have so many school exams and all that stuff that I don't know where to turn. I hope you are better, and if not then at least relish this sixth part. ;)_

* * * 

**Prelude to Innocence**  
by Akin

* * *

The next days they reached their position by Harnen where they could watch over the situation. There were no Haradrim in sight and so they built a camp. Until nightfall the tents they carried with themselves were raised. Boromir retreated back to his tent with the captains. 

Faramir looked at his own he shared with Tiris. He was in no mood to go in and sleep although night already fell. Nevertheless he forced himself to tug into his blankets. The Haradrim surely knew about their presence. They could expect an attack soon, tomorrow. Or even in the night. 

* * * 

He awoke to the clinging of swords. His mind was tired and confused. Foggy, he decided would be the best word to describe it. He pushed the unruly strands of hair from his face. Today was most likely the day of condemnation, or absolution. The sickening idea returned life into his veins again. His spirit literally rose, although his limbs were heavy. 

He fetched the sword at the side of his sleeping place. It was not in a loving manner like Boromir always did, as if stroking something precious, but Faramir hazily realised that in his grip there was something similar to his brother's.   
He relished the feeling of satisfaction for a moment, but then quickly rose and put on the chainmail. Boromir forced him to wear. For his protection, at least from the start, as he had put it. He would need it. 

The attack would come today, he was sure of it. 

* * * 

Faramir blinked furiously although his vision was absolutely clear.   
His brow was knitted together, as he eyed the Haradrim standing face off to him. It was really a big man and Faramir was uneasy. He fully realised his opponent, he saw his own hand holding his sword, and yet everything seemed so distant as if he was living a dream.  
_I could always concentrate very well, unlike today. Is it from the lack of sleep? he wondered, No matter the cause, if I do not wake up from this weird dream immediately I can be very soon ordered by that sword to sleep forever._

Despite the dangerous realisation the edges of his vision blurred even more. He had never been so fully awake and yet never so dangerously walking in dream. He was so aware of his opponent that even if he had closed his eyes, he would have still felt his every movement.   
_Concentrate!_

Despite the harsh orders his mind kept swaying easily. The feeling of presence was elusive.   
He was convinced that if he was to spar with Boromir right on the place, he would hold against his brother much longer than usual. Maybe even defeat him.   
_But this is not careful Boromir! _

Maybe he would win. Despite his will the idea was poisoning him with unknown self-conscience.   
_Is this what I was afraid of? To fight?_

Suddenly Faramir spotted an opened space in Haradrim's defence he had been longingly searching. His arm quicker than his mind dodged forward and the sword easily pierced the soft flesh of Haradrim's chest.   
_Not too deep so the sword would not stay clenched in the ribcage._  
He pulled it out as fast as he had pierced it in. The tip of the cold metal was bloody. 

Unlike he had expected, the Haradrim did not fall to the ground.   
He looked at Faramir rather stunned and wanted to say something, but the words remained closed in bloody bubbles that started to come out of the wound together with bright blood. 

Faramir stepped back, stunned. He saw the pain of the Haradrim's on the dark-coloured face, but his limbs were too weak to give the blow of mercy. Then finally the man fell down and in a final cramp breathed out for the last time. White sandy ash that had been swirled by this fall settled covering the limp form just like all other forms lying in the dust. 

Only then Faramir looked around and realised that he heard no sounds of battle anymore. On the ground around him many corpses were scattered, mostly of Haradrims. 

The evidence of ferocity and recklessness the attack had held struck him. He leaned forward a little so that the light-headed feeling would go away.   
In the corner of his eye he noticed Boromir hurrying his way, so he straightened. When Boromir, who himself appeared unharmed, came closer, Faramir waved at him, "No worries, brother mine. I am not wounded." 

In Boromir's face there was unusual strain, but despite that he easily patted Faramir's shoulder, "I am glad, Faramir. Now we shall aid those who were not so lucky," he looked around sadly. Then he patted him again and went to command the necessary works. 

Faramir sighed. Enveloped in a smell of blood he did not feel victorious at all. Neither did he feel scared anymore. Then after he had sighed again, he went after his brother. 

Some of the older, more experienced soldiers had already began with the grim task of identifying the dead. They were silent, not forcing anyone to help them. Everyone needed his time to awake from the deathly stupor of mind and to actually realise that he had survived. 

Faramir looked down at cut limb that was lying by his feet not so far from the body of a Gondorian. His stomach twisted and the meagre breakfast started to ask for a way out. Despite that he forced his knees to bend and touched the cold piece of flesh. It was, just like all the others, already covered with a thin layer of sand grains. 

He could still distinguish the Gondorians from the Haradrim, yet they appeared so similar that it was almost ironic. He turned the body around and a high-pitched laugher tore out of his throat. It was no one he knew. His bones suddenly felt warm and weak and his joints solidified. He straightened and quickly walked past the others into the open space. 

Although there were not many soldiers around where he was, he needed to get the greatest possible distance between himself and them without being too prominent. 

He walked quickly and was only marginally aware of the small grains and stones flying away from under his boot. Vague pressure in his throat was independently growing on his mind. If he stopped or slowed down, he was sure he would start to cry, or scream. He could and would neither cry nor scream! No one should see him in the state he was in. 

Faramir felt the almost metal clutches of his consciousness clinging to his mind closer and closer, pushing it into its tight embrace. And the more he pushed, the more the pressure in his throat grew. He was almost sure he could not hold the outbreak anymore and he panicked.   
_What is happening to me?_

He realised his own harsh and laboured breathing. Faramir had a feeling that if he would not start to breathe normally soon, he would fall over. The cold shackles of his consciousness were not only around his mind anymore, but seemed to have contracted his chest as well. Crying and screaming were fighting for control within him. 

He was finally out of sight of everyone and slipped into the valley that used to be Harnen's ground. He was thankful for being away. If he was to crack, no one could see! 

He had a feeling that he would go to his knees soon, yet his body remained standing rigid and straight as he gazed over the river.   
He could not see it though. Although he was safe, far from everyone, he could not surrender his body to the attack of panic. His knees seemed weak, but his jaws were firmly set and he had a feeling that his teeth would shatter each moment.   
"Here you are!"

The voice of his brother interrupted his inner fight. Immediately a smile slipped immediately on his face, he did not even know how, and he turned to Boromir who was stumbling towards him down the steep he himself did not remember to passing.   
Finally Boromir stood before him, a gentle smile on his lips, "I was hoping you would be here. I had seen you one moment and you were gone the other."  
_Half truth is better than no truth. I would not fool him entirely anyway. _

"No need to worry. I was only a little shaken," lied Faramir.   
"I can imagine. I was shaken after my first battle as well."  
Faramir immediately came out of his imprisonment of doubts.   
"Were you? How was it?"

Although Boromir had never denied him anything, Faramir was a little surprised when Boromir immediately relented and sat down. Faramir quickly followed his suit and listened eagerly.

"My first battle, or at least my first real battle was in Ithilien. A small group of Orcs had been reported and we were supposed to hunt it down. I was not in command then and I was eager to fight," a smile tugged at Boromir's lips, but his eyes were serious, "it did not take us long to find their whereabouts. It really was not a big group and I was convinced that it would be only a matter of few moments to get rid of them.   
I was under the command of Tepisul, you do not remember him. He had died soon after that. He was a great commander, but I did not recognise it.   
We were watching them several days. They had stayed in a small valley. It was so small that we were able to encircle it without being noticed. I believed they did not stand a chance against us, but Tepisul wanted to wait. 

He still claimed that there was something more than had met the eye. I did not understand it and so I organised a group of those who were of my opinion and we attacked. I believed that there was no way we could not succeed. Tepisul was right though. As soon as we started to fight I realised that I had underestimated them. We had the advantage of surprise, but that soon passed. Luckily, Tepisul soon realised was had happened and came to our help. We had won that time, but the price for victory was high and many men died that night. I was shattered. And what was worst was that Tepisul did not even say anything reproachful to me although many who died were from his company. He more or less had to rebuilt it." 

"Strange. I do not remember anything of this." Faramir wondered.   
"Yes. Not many know about it. The leader has to have the entire trust of his company."  
"But your company does believe in you!" objected Faramir.  
"They would not give me their trust at the start if they did know, would they?"  
Faramir looked at his brother and had a feeling that Boromir suddenly was not so tall in his eyes any more. 

Despite that he did not appear to be any lower than before. Right the opposite. His estimation rose and now he was dearer to Faramir than ever. "Thank you," he whispered. 

Boromir put a hand on his brother's shoulder and gently pushed him back towards the field with many bodies.   
"There is still much work to do. We shall bring the bodies away ere the sun starts to do its work." 

* * * 

If he had been any stronger, he would most likely have sworn under his breath. But the condition he was in did not allow him not such a luxury. Faramir had a feeling that if he was to help to carry one more body, he could already be added to them as well. 

The bodies were cold and white. And a little scary. But together with his strength his aversion to them left him. He no longer touched them reluctantly, but steadily and fast as if he had not been doing anything else his whole life. 

There were many soldiers he did not recognise. The few days they had been riding together had not been enough to get to know everyone. Looking down at the pale bodies, Faramir was glad it was so. 

A brief philosophical thought of dependency on the qualities of a good leader and cold-heartedness crossed his mind, but he did not pay much attention to it. Although the idea was highly engaging, the horrid images his brain still contained were too strong to allow non-emotional thought. 

Boromir's comfort was of great help though. He imagined a great carved box, then he put all his worries and senseless thoughts into it and shut it. Only tiredness remained then.   
Faramir looked down at his own hands. They were grey, not so different from the corpses he had touched before. He felt grey from weariness. 

Thankfully there was not so much to do. There were still more of those who had survived and the pile of bodies was becoming smaller. Although several men had already sent him away to get a little sleep, Faramir did not have any intention to leave before the eerie work was finished. In his humbled and scared heart it was the only way how to pay the last respect. 

When he entered the tent he shared with Tiris later it was almost deep night and his companion was already tucked in his blanket. Faramir could tell that Tiris was not sleeping, but if his friend chose to ignore him, he could live with it. He reasoned bitterly. Under other circumstances he would have cared, but not tonight. His entrails were still twisting from the horrid images planted in his mind. His own weariness was keeping him from fighting them. So he only grunted in Tiris direction and lay down. The instant he closed his eyes, sleep took him. 

* * * 

* * *

**Siberia**-hmmm not only soldiers like Faramir ;P, but thank you 

**tHe InSaNe One**-I wonder whether you will say the same about Denethor after the last chapter (provided it would go the way I wish, though i can be never too sure, Boromir is sometimes just so damn stubborn and doesn't want to do what I tell him). Since I am not you Faramir won't get hurt, you will have to wait a little longer for Denethor to show what's in him! :)

**Acacia**-Thank you thank you I am glad that you noticed that Tiris is such a strange guy, I have to admit that I am really very fond of him. :) 

**Shlee Verde**-hmmm a new name here I see, that is a good sign I deem :) Yeah, Boromir&Faramir are great and if you want to read something really great, then I can say only one name- Dwimordene. She is the greatest!

**Alex**-I like Tiris as well and what his fate will be I am not sure, but he won't die, not yet at least. 

I thank you everyone who encouraged me and told me one way or another that he/she likes the story, EVERY comment (criticising especially) is welcome!  
_If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. _


	7. upon a brink

_ Author's note: It is almost a month since the last update, I know. I can't apologise otherwise then to say that I had really a lot to work. It seems like the next few weeks won't be any better. (I expect a few really difficult exams, yeah real life). I am really, but really sorry._

* * * 

**Prelude to Innocence**  
by Akin

* * * 

Faramir opened his eyes into the night. His confused mind had to adjust for a moment to realise where he was.   
He could not think of a reason why he was up. The silence of the tent was not interrupted.   
Nothing at all. Not even Tiris' soft breathing. He harked, but heard nothing could have revealed the presence of another in the tent. He sat up and looked at the other sleeping place. It was empty. The tangled blanket still lay there, but there was no sign of the occupant. Tiris' cloak and backpack were also gone. 

Faramir cursed softly and got up. He had always had a light sleep and he could not understand how it was possible that he had not been awoken by Tiris' departure. He reached into the artist's bed and stated there was only a little warmth coming from it. It could not have been very long since Tiris had left.   
Faramir swiftly put a cloak around him and went out. Despite the protection of his clothes the cold night wind immediately bit into his skin. 

He glanced around, but could not see anything in particular, not even the guards only grass covered in silver. He wondered whether it was possible that the guards had fallen asleep, but then found it unlikely. 

There were only two places where Tiris could have gone to hide. The first was the old, now dry, bed of the Harnen, building a shallow canyon.   
The second was a little further from the camp. It was a very small group of meagre trees by the river.   


Faramir crouched behind the tents and looked out for the guards.   
He still could not see them, but that of course did not mean that they could not be watching the camp hidden. He did not want to risk anything, so he kept on hiding behind the tents until he was finally able to slip into the cover of the canyon. He sighed relieved and then he looked around. 

To his immense disappointment he could not see anyone. Then there was only the second possibility of Tiris' whereabouts- the group of trees.   
Faramir gazed along the canyon. He did not want to get out of its cover. He was sure that the guards would spot him in the plain land immediately. It already was a miracle that they had not noticed him crouching to the river. But if he walked along the canyon, he should be able to get there. 

He started to run along the long black lace of water silently. There were several clouds running on over the skies, but the stars shone brightly. The hiding and coming moon was lightening and darkening the dark flow. Harad was a hot land, but during the night the temperature was dropping. It was enough to make one without the protection of a the cloak shiver. 

Faramir finally entered the island of trees and immediately felt the temperature drop even further. The air was more damp and he wondered whether the trees had something to do with it.   
_Maybe they need especially damp air so they create it for themselves from the water they get from their roots. _  
Faramir got up the muddy bank. 

He could spot his friend in the thin vegetation almost immediately.   


Tiris was crouched and furiously working on something on the ground. There was a small lantern hanging above his head, moving from one side to the other together with the wind. Its dim glow was hiding rather than illuminating. Faramir opened his eyes wider, gazing into the darkness, trying to pierce it, but to no avail. As much as he tried, he could not see more than Tiris' strange, haggard motions.   
It was scaring him.   
He had heard about soldiers who crumpled after their first battle and never were the same again, but he had never seen anything like it before. 

Fascinated by the sinister appearance and his own strange perverse interest in this madness, Faramir stepped a few paces closer to the source of the light. When a stick broke under his foot, Faramir immediately halted; to observe madness was something different than to have its attention centred on him.   
Wind was ruffling his hair and wheezing around his ears, and he hoped that it was strong enough to cover up the noise he had made. His hope had faded, when Tiris stopped to move with his arms and turned to him. 

Tiris' face was almost hidden in the darkness and Faramir thought, his eyes glittered like the ones of a cat. Within this moment of uncertainty he felt like a prey.   
Tiris moved a little and the faint glow of the lantern fell upon his face; his expression was a testimony of his inner torment.   
Faramir expected madness to shine in the glinting dark eyes, yet there was nothing of such kind there. Only pain. Tiris straightened, waved to him. When Faramir did not move, he called in a silent voice.   
"Faramir, come here. I will show you something." 

_Like a whisper of death!_ Faramir immediately chastised himself for the ridiculous thought, but the fear he felt inside did not want to release its fingers closed around his heart.   
He forced his legs to move forward to Tiris, who motioned to the canvas lying on the ground.   
"This is my best work, I am sure. It is called the Victory!"  
Entering the small circle of light around the lantern, Faramir finally got a look at the work. 

The canvas was covered in a strange mixture of reddish brown. Faramir gazed at it questioningly. Only then his eyes fell on his friends hands. They were covered in mud and blood flowing from several cuts of different lengths covering the artist's palms.   
Faramir felt bile rising into his throat. From the amount of the blood covering Tiris' hands and the canvas Faramir guessed Tiris must have lost more of the precious liquid than he could afford. The artist did not seem to be influenced by it, though.   
Faramir tried to preserve the little reason Tiris hopefully still had.   
"Yes. I think you are right, it really looks like your best work."  
"I knew you would be of the same opinion! And when it would be finished!"

Faramir looked at the strange artistic work again. To his horror, it appeared as if something new was trying to get out from inside his friend. Something scaring. But despite that this work was by far better than anything Tiris had created before.   
Scared by this sudden interest, Faramir supressed the thought. There could be nothing grand about it for it was a work born of suffering.   
_But is not every great work born of suffering?_

Stepping closer to his friend, Faramir tried to insist soothingly.  
"Come, the painting can wait. Midnight is coming soon and there will be a difficult day tomorrow. " 

Tiris' eyes left his work and looked at Faramir suspiciously, " This does not sound like you at all. I have presented my unfinished work to you which will be the best I have created so far and you want me to give up working on it?" then he cried out, "I am giving you my soul!"  
Taking Tiris bleeding hands in his, Faramir said, sadness welling up in him. "You have already given me more than you could, more than you should." 

Tiris set his one hand free and softly touched Faramir, leaving a bloody trail on his cheek, "Faramir, always so mindful of the others. Do not be afraid for my sake."  
"When you want to ease my worries, come back with me. Let me take care of you and then rest."  
Tiris looked back at the painting, undecided. Faramir hurried to finish the sentence. "Come." he took the painting from the ground, "I will take this, so you can finish it later."  


Tiris nodded slowly, and suddenly he appeared tired. Faramir quickly recovered everything and they set out on the way back to the camp. Walking back, worries crept back to him. Tiris was leaning on him, obviously more exhausted than he wanted to admit. Faramir doubted whether his friend would be able to walk on his own. It was unthinkable to try to get into the camp past the guards with Tiris in his condition without being noticed. How would he explain their strange posture? And more, how would he explain how they got out of the camp without being noticed?

"Come, at first we have to take care of your hands." He whispered to Tiris. He felt the older boy lean more into his shoulder and nod a little.   
He lead Tiris back to Harnen. When they reached it Faramir almost slipped into it, taking Tiris down with him, but then he managed to keep his balance.   
"Sit down here and let me take care of it."  
To his surprise, Tiris obeyed this silent order and sat down by the stream heavily. Faramir crouched to him, cupped cold water into his hands and carefully poured it over Tiris' palms. 

The mud closing the wound was almost dry, but with the water it started to wash away and some wounds began to bleed again.   
Seeing this, Faramir dared to take a look at his friends face, but Tiris appeared to be in a kind of sleep: his eyes were closed and he was leaning on a tree. Faramir returned his attention to his task, relieved to know that the treatment was not so painful after all. By the time he finished his task, most of the reopened wounds were nearly closed, not bleeding at all. 

Finally cleaning his own hands, he whispered, "Wake up. We are finished."   
Tiris' eyes slowly opened and he asked sluggishly, "We can return now?"  
Faramir turned back to the camp worried, it was not very far and the guards could hear them. He took Tiris' arm and threw it over his shoulders, helping his friend to stand up. 

"Be quiet. The guards must not hear us!"  
Tiris nodded, but Faramir was not certain if his friend understood.   
Faramir supported Tiris, stumbling over this additional weight. The further they got, the more Faramir became convinced it was not possible for the guards not to notice them. He had tried to walk straight, but Tiris was walking heavily and unsteadily, swaying both himself and Faramir. 

If Faramir had hoped to get into the camp unnoticed his hope was fading with each passing moment. He could see calm horses and tents, but more important was that he could see the guards, and they saw them! It seemed like their well of luck was to end.   
"Hold on a little moment. Then you can rest," he whispered to Tiris' ear, who to his surprise nodded dumbly into his shoulder.  
"I have an idea, but walk on."  
They swayed further to the camp. Faramir could already see the guards and was relieved that he did not know them very well. With a little luck they did not know him either. 

Just as he expected, the guards had noticed them immediately and had drawn their weapons. For a moment Faramir was afraid that they would shoot them as intruders, but to his relief when they came closer, one of the guards chuckled,   
"Do not shoot! Is it not the captain's small brother?" he mockingly asked the other. 

Faramir knew he had to act soon before they had a chance to give them a second look. With slurred almost incomprehensible words he growled, "How dare you to call me little brother?"  
The other guard joined the first and chuckled slyly, "Yes. And it seems like he has drunk more than he should have. They could have shared at least. Do you think we should tell the captain?" he asked half laughing. A pang of fear went through Faramir's heart. Boromir must not know! 

"Forget about it. The way they both look, the headache they will have tomorrow will be enough of a punishment. They will be sick like dogs," they laughed viciously and let them pass by.   
When they were far enough, Tiris' whispered, "I did not know you could act so well."  
Faramir shrugged gently, "Experience."  
Tiris mirthlessly drawled, "Of course."  


* * *

Faramir sadly looked at the figure of his friend huddled in the covers. Although Tiris was covered with Faramir's covers as well, he was still shivering and Faramir strongly suspected that it would take more than only blankets to make Tiris feel warm again. He had never seen anyone at the brink of his strength, yet he was certain that Tiris was at the end of his. 

Faramir tore his eyes away and looked upon the green rough linen of the tent. It was not one of the most appealing sights it offered, but at least he did not have to watch Tiris. He could not loathe Tiris for his weakness, only himself for his own. 

_Can you ever forgive my self pity? Without seeking consolation I had found it in my brother. I had forgotten about you. Though you might have needed it more than I did._  
Faramir forcibly pushed the thought out of his mind. Most likely his words would not have made any difference. The soft nudge into the open arms of insanity was already given and Tiris was sliding down the path of madness into its embrace without slowing down. There was no way to stop it. 

Faramir bit hard into his lower lip hard.   
_If we cannot stop the sliding, then we will have to bend the path._

He smiled vaguely into the night. The thought appeared nearly outrageously simple, but already as he started to explore it, Faramir realised that it was naiveté to consider it as such. There were about five hundred and fifty men in the camp and several healers who were constantly taking care of a few wounded. How to do something without being noticed by anyone? It almost seemed an impossible task. 

He had to act quickly, but think thoroughly as well. Faramir lowered himself onto his sleeping place and rested his chin on his folded arms.   
How to manage something so horribly difficult when the time was short, resources thin and the eyes all around them were ever watchful? 

* * * 

* * *

**THREE HEYS TO ALEX FOR CONSTRUCTIVE QUESTION!!!**

**Alex**-my favourite review, almost criticsm, but definitely constructive. I can't believe that I forgot to mention it myself. I implanted the answer among the lines which will be in the next chapter, but only thanks to you. THANK YOU That would be really pretty strange if I didn't mention such a needed fact. I mean the Steward's family almost fell apart because of the orphans and I forgot to mention them!! Terrible me tsk tsk

**tHe InSaNe One**-hey I didn't mean to insult you with the you-thing ;). Faramir surely does get into several situation which I would not describe as heart-wrenching, but let's say tense and difficult. I can guarantee you that. How will Denethor react? I don't know precisely myself yet. I have a very vague idea, but I know how strange Denethor can be. The question is whether he would cooperate, that is another thing, I can tell you he is quite subborn chap. 

**Caroly**-I admit that I love to play in characters' heads and especially in Faramir's so cute and intelligent one. That's a real pleasure. I only hope that I won't let you, poor readers, leave emotionally scarred. ;-) 

**Shlee Verde**-I have to admit that I personally like this chapter a lot, I hope you enjoyed it just like you did the last one. I am sorry that you had to wait so long, but it was really inevitable. 

I thank you everyone who encouraged me and told me one way or another that he/she likes the story, EVERY comment (criticising especially) is welcome!  
_If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. _


	8. I am the rain

_ Author's note: I am really sorry that you had to wait this long. Blame the school, not me. This may be the last ride you wil enjoy for a longer time, but the decision is up to you. But now relish, please. :) This is probably my fav. chapter and I would be very pleased if you enjoyed it just like I did. _

* * * 

**Prelude to Innocence**  
by Akin

* * * 

Tiris moved on his place again, sighing softly. It was already the second time in a short period and it meant that the artist would awake soon. Strangely enough after a very hard day Tiris' night was undisturbed. Faramir was thankful for that. The silence of the night suited his thinking. 

His sleeping place was uncomfortable and he had to shift constantly, but Faramir was content nevertheless. A few questions were still lurking n the murky corner of his mind, but he had got in his planning further than he had expected. 

Although the plan did not seem easier, now it at least appeared possible. He was sure the only way how to preserve what was left of Tiris's sanity was to get the artist away. For Gondor could have won this war, but the pressure was growing every day and the need for soldiers was constant. It was only question of time when the orphans would be required again. Faramir could not allow that violence should destroy unique mind. 

Tiris grunted softly. Faramir rose from his bed alert. He quickly got up to his friend and softly covered his murmuring mouth with his hand. Tiris awoke immediately, his eyes flew wide. 

Faramir turned to the entrance of the tent to check whether anyone would come. Then he motioned to Tiris to be silent. Only when the older boy nodded, Faramir dared to take his hand away.   
"Do not speak. I will explain everything to you, but by the Valar, do not speak!" Tiris nodded once again, his expressive eyes glinted with expectation in the dimness. 

"I can get your out of here. I have a plan how to do it, but you must follow everything I say."   
"I would be a deserter! They would hunt me down!" Tiris hissed.   
"You did not seem to mind before the battle! But listen to me, or we will both pay very dearly." A small anxious note that crept into Faramir's voice underlining the grave expression. Tiris grimaced, but nodded. 

"Today the list of the dead will be made. My heart is breaking to announce that due to the lack of experience 5 orphans died and Tiris, son of Minas Tirith, as well. "  
Before Tiris could say whatever he wished, Faramir continued,   
"I do not know how much time we have before Boromir will call us to return to Minas Tirith. Before that happens, all must be prepared. I will take care of that. All you have to do is to sit quietly in this tent so no one can notice you. I will go to Boromir today and try to find out how much time do we have exactly." 

"Are you aware that you are exercising betrayal on your own blood and land?"   
"I know, but if you try to sway me in my decision, I shall hate you for betraying my trust."   
"I thank you."   
"Do not thank me. The future is unsure and this plan very uncertain. It could lead you to death or the life of a renegade."   
Tiris smiled briefly, "still this uncertain plan offers me a bigger chance than I have had since my childhood." Faramir winced. 

Although he fully realised that his feeling of responsibility for slow-fading Tiris' was only his imagination and care, he could not get rid of it.   
It was threatening to crunch him.   
He shrugged with his shoulders, "I simply believe that everyone should have his chance." 

The look of gratitude on Tiris face was immediately replaced by irony, "Says the man, who never had any."   
Faramir clenched his fists in dismay and with one foot almost out of the tent he whispered, "Do not say it," and then added, "I will be back in a moment. Remember, do not leave the tent." 

Faramir left for Boromir's tent. It was shortly before dawn, but it was probably the only time of the day when he could speak to Boromir alone, without being disturbed by anyone. He knocked at the tent two times.   
Small trails of sand slid down the linen.   
"Boromir, may I enter?"   
According to his expectations, his brother's voice was not sleepy at all.   
"Come in, Faramir." 

When Faramir entered he felt his determination quiver at the sight of his brother.   
Boromir was tugging his shirt into his pants. He was clean and combed. He looked like he did during their careless days in Minas Tirith; as if there had not been a fight just one day ago.   
With another man, this could lead Faramir into perplexity, but for a soldier like Boromir it was almost natural. 

"Faramir, what leads you here?"   
Startled Faramir paused to consider the usual question carefully. Could Boromir sense his betrayal?   
_My imagination plays with me. I have to hold through, keep a clear head. _

"I came to ask you whether I can help you with something. The Haradrim are driven away for now and there are plenty of things to be organised before we can return..." Faramir trailed off. 

Boromir laughed shortly, "My always mindful brother. Yes, we shall return home soon. There are only a few wounded, but their injuries are only minor and will not hinder us. We should stay here for a short time to make sure that the borders are secure, but I do not assume there should be any problems. I believe that we can go home in about two days. That is enough time to organise everything. "

Faramir nodded and quickly got up. He had got all the information he needed.   
"Then I will not take any more of your time, I know how precious it is."   
Boromir smiled at the comment, "Thank you for your care."   
Faramir brushed the generous words with careless gesture and went out. 

When Faramir returned to his tent, several other tents were awaking to a new day as well.   
Tiris lay in his sleeping place.   
"I did not tell you that you should not move. Only that you should not leave the tent."   
Tiris scowled and got out of the tangled blankets. He looked at Faramir anxiously.   
"Did you find out everything you wanted to?" 

Faramir sat down opposite to him and explained seriously, "We have less time than I had initially believed. We leave for Minas Tirith in two days. Everything has to be prepared before then."   
Tiris' head sunk considerably, "How do you imagine doing it. It is impossible!"   
"I have never said it would be easy, nor that we would manage for sure." 

Tiris calmed down and waited for Faramir to continue.   
It was incomprehensible to Faramir that this broken doll staring at him used to be a though-provoking and question-awaking lad. He could almost pity Tiris. Yet there was still hope for under the thick layers of darkness the old nature still sparkled. 

"We must get as much food as possible for you during the next two days. I will write the Steward's notice and get the sign on it for you while Boromir sleeps tonight. In the meantime, you will take all food I can get you and leave for the small wood. I will come after you and bring you the notice. You must leave sooner than we do. With enough food and water you should be able to get to the borders before we arrive in Minas Tirith. "

"It is full of risk," Tiris noted.   
"Every choice we have is. To stay, as well as to leave."   
"What if someone remembers seeing me after the battle?"   
"Even if someone did, no one would run after you now. By the time you will be reported for desertion in Minas Tirith, you would already be over the borders. You cannot return to Gondor though, never." 

Tiris obviously halted in his thoughts and for the first time he really seemed to be thinking about their plan as about something realistic that would come true.   
"I shall never see the White city again?"   
The soft comment surprised Faramir greatly. Yet Tiris got out of his sentiment quickly.   
"Do not bring me food. It would bring unwanted attention to us. I can find something to eat along the way."   
"Are you sure? The borders are dangerous and it is not certain that you can catch anything edible."   
"Do not worry. I can manage on my own. I'd never place you into unnecessary danger." 

"Really?" Faramir grinned slyly in almost perfect imitation of Tiris' expression, "Leave then together with your horse after nightfall. No one will notice you. It will appear as if you brought your horse to the water before sleeping and it will be dark enough to cover your face. Follow the canyon to the wood. I will bring you the notice. No matter what happens, you must wait for me. You cannot leave without it, you would never get over the borders." 

They sat in silence. Faramir searched his friend's face for any sign of distress, but there was none.   
Although Faramir believed he would never forget Tiris' expression of pain and betrayal from the night he touched madness, he could not picture it anymore. 

When he tried to imagine it, the essentiality of the moment escaped him. In his memory only the smell of fresh blood and soil remained. He would never forget that mixture. 

Would he ever snap like Tiris had done?   
Tiris seemed to be stronger than him, accepting thing faster and easier. And yet, he had broken.   
The idea sounded alien to him, but it was the truth- Tiris had simply lost it. Lost his touch to reality.   
Could something like that happen to him as well?   
The light of his reason would go out and in the darkness he would lose his piece, or rather peace. Would he ever look for what was lost? He opened his mouth to ask... 

"No! Please! Do not ask!" Tiris' expression that had been soft moment's ago hardened. His voice was metallic and it tore through Faramir's thought as harshly as a blade that separates flesh. 

Faramir forced the curiosity in his gaze to retreat.   
When he looked back at Tiris, it was Tiris again. Not some riddle that had to be solved or a question that needed answer, only Tiris. 

* * *

Faramir tried to be very patient during the next day. He had to watch himself constantly. Even a small mistake could ruin everything; his life as well. 

So he had done everything that could be required of him. Not more, so he did not draw dangerous attention to him, not less. 

Like every time when you anxiously wait for something, the time flew. Even nature herself seemed to help the two conspirators. The night came sooner than usual and in no time all soldiers had retired to their tents. There was no fire lit, no songs sung. Their pain of losing close friends in a seemingly meaningless battle was still too raw. 

When the night embraced everything, Faramir was crouched close to his tent trying to stop his clattering teeth. His hands trembled as well and he had a feeling that every moment the whole camp would awake to the sound. 

He wore his cloak, but it was cold nevertheless. His knees were almost icy and painful. If he did not move soon, he was afraid that he would be too frozen to move in the right moment. Both of his legs already seemed alien as if they were not attached to him at all. He pinched himself into his thigh to make ensure that there was still some blood circulating in it. Numb pain similar to the pinching of cold came as an unsatisfying response. 

He could not understand he was not so cold when he was sitting by the river whole nights. In general it should have been warmer here. He shivered once again. Obviously, it was not.   
He looked up to Boromir's tent. There was still the faint glowing of a candle outlining his brother's body on the rough linen. He was writing something.   
"Go to bed or I will freeze here!" Faramir whimpered.   
Yet it took another long while until the shadow of his brother stood up and put out the light. Faramir sighed. All he had to do now was to wait a little longer and hope that Boromir would sleep as healthily and deeply as always. 

After waiting quite a while and then even longer, just to be sure, Faramir got up and his knees crackled so loudly that his wildly beating heart almost jumped out of his chest after it started to beat again. His throat contracted and he frantically started to make up something that could help him to explain his late night walk if anyone showed up. After a moment of anxious waiting he sighed. It did not seem as if the guards had heard him although he was sure that even Tiris hidden in the far away wood must have heard the terrible cracks. 

Faramir quickly moved to Boromir's tent and after a short mangling with it he got in.   
He pictured the tent from the early morning and prayed that nothing important had changed in it.   
He could hear Boromir's soft breathing on the opposite side. Nothing showed that he could wake him up. And Faramir would wonder if he did, because Boromir was working hard and although his complexion was strong and trained, everyone needed to rest eventually. 

Faramir blindly reached into the open space where his hand found a haversack hanging on the tent's construction. He searched in it for a moment and then took out a cylindrical Steward's signet.   
He was thankful that Denethor trusted Boromir with it. Surely their father would never think that the betrayal would come from his own blood.   
_Or maybe he would. _

Faramir ran his fingers over the bottom of the signet. It was still damp; Boromir must have worked on some important notices. No wonder he worked so long. Boromir hated paper-work. Surely there were many reports to write by now and the work was slow. 

Faramir quickly brought a document out of his pocket and pressed it hard against the sign. Then he quickly returned everything to where it belonged and left the tent. 

As soon as he reached the open space, his heart started to beat slower, his breath evened and he did not feel like standing in fire.   
There was still a journey to Tiris through the canyon awaiting him, but he felt as if he could sing. His dangerous and daring plan had worked. 

He had never been drunk, but if it felt good, then he was drunk now, with success. And it was better than he had ever imagined. 

The journey was quick and running along the canyon he did not even feel cold. Soon he disappeared into the wood. It took him several moments until his eyes adjusted to the thick darkness, but then he unmistakably followed to the place where he was supposed to meet Tiris. 

The artist was there, crouched in the night. His horse stood still, as well. Both figures seemed to be set in stone. As soon as he spotted Faramir, he jumped to him,   
"I was already worried that something had happened to you," there was genuine relief in his voice. 

Out of his pocket Faramir produced the document and handed it to Tiris,  
"You should leave fast. It took me longer than expected."   
Faramir gazed at his friend, trying to engrave every little detail of his face into his mind, for he knew, that this was most likely their last meeting. Their paths were simply leading their futures into different directions. 

Moonlight was flickering on their faces, breaking between moving leaves.   
And in this intimate moments, it seemed to him, that for a moment he saw something in the deep dark eyes that had not been there before and went further than gratitude. 

Tiris' hand came from darkness and surprisingly softly pressed to his cheek confirming, what both of them knew- it was time for parting. His thumb made a small half-circle, as if wiping away tears.   
"Worries of a man, engraved in the face of a boy. Do not worry Faramir. I am leaving, but despite that, I will be with you, I am the rain." 

Faramir's eyes met with the artist's and for a moment he had a feeling that Tiris wanted to say something more, but then his friend only leaned closer. His breath was tickling Faramir's face. Tiris' eyes were large and deep, he leaned even closer and hushed,  
"Thank you. Valar with you, my Lord." 

Then his hand withdrew, he turned away and before Faramir could say anything, he disappeared into the woods. The fleeting moment passed and suddenly, Faramir was standing at the meadow alone. The wind running between the trunks in the wood carried the distant sound of breaking sticks- the last reminder that his friend was gone.   
Faramir turned away. His heart was heavy, but it was time to move on. And so he did, towards the camp. 

???~ FIN ~??? * * * 

* * *

_ Before I say anything to the few who still stick with this story, I want to give you two questions.   
I usually don't do this, but I wanted to ask what do you think of the relationship Faramir has/had with Tiris. I tried here something and I want to check whether it worked. So if you can tell me your opinion I would be very thrilled.  
The other thing is, this story was supposed to end here. And it obviously does. BUT, I am writing next chapters. The question you get to decide is, do you want me to continue this story under this name, or shall I write it as as a sequel standing on its own? _

If I continue to add chapter to this story, you will have to wait between the chapters. If I write it as a sequel, I will write the whole story and only then start to post it, but then you will get it in much quicker tempo. But of course until we get to that point of posting, it would take time. It's up to you. 

And now to my reviewers who still stick :) 

_ **Alex**-If you liked the previous part, you should like this one too. I am sure that this is even better. At least in my eyes._

**tHe InSaNe One**-Well, you can also decide what you will see in this story. But I hope that you liked it too. As I already mentioned, this is one of my fav. chapters. 

I thank you everyone who encouraged me and told me one way or another that he/she likes the story, EVERY comment (criticising especially) is welcome!  
_If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. _


End file.
